Tag: Humility

Maybe I’ll get a wide-screen view of my life when I die, and I’ll have the perspective of a stranger, seeing all I did and didn’t do, and perhaps it won’t be as terrible as I fear.

I know where I fucked-up, and I know where I tried to right things, and I know where I did well.

I parented a child mostly on my own, and I finally forgave myself for all that I wasn’t. I can catalog a list of what I didn’t do to him that was done to me, and I can catalog a list of what I did, and didn’t do that could have made his life better.

Sometimes I was a real shit. Sometimes my selfishness, and lack of perspective, or just self-righteous justifications, ruled the day. I wish I had done better.

I forgive me because I haven’t yet. My guilt and shame have made my life a tough place to be, and I yelled and lived so much in my anger when I was raising him, and I’m sure that caused lasting harm.

I think I made him afraid of emotions, afraid that they would always overwhelm him, so it’s better not to have them.

I forgive myself for causing his anxiety, or adding to his challenges in this unforgiving life. While I appreciate his forgiveness, it’s most important that I stop adding more shame. At my worst, I worry that I’m unable to change – that I wouldn’t be any better if I could do it over. I’m grateful we need not find out.

I forgive me for not caring enough about myself, for not having a fight reaction when my flight reaction was dissociation rather than getting myself out of the situation. I forgive myself for not being stronger, more willful.

I’ve learned how to fight – how to scratch, and kick, and tear skin – to make sure I have some DNA. I almost welcome anyone to try to mess with me now, now that my rage is outward, and I’m no longer cowed. I could have prevented so much harm, but I think it’s better to learn late than not at all.

Ice is forming on the river that separates my town from the next town over. Winter is truly here. I drove by the river early this morning on my way to an appointment and I thought about years past, and ice skating with one of my best friends back then on that stretch of river. She lived with her brother and father in a cabin at the end of the cove. I think about her nearly every time I drive by, but especially in the winter, and I wonder about her life now.

I vaguely remember my daily life growing up, or even young adulthood, but some specific people, places, and/or events have never receded that far in my mind, and certain times of the year bring them clearly back to me. I’ll open a particular hair conditioner every once in a while when I shop at the store that carries it, and the scent places me back to my seventeenth year, with my best friend at the time, and the situation we were in. It’s an immersion experience, but only lasts a second, if that. Like a dream, I try to remain in the moment, but it’s gone. Smelling the conditioner again will not bring the experience back, even an hour later. I guess it takes my brain, or psyche, or whatever, more time to reset its visceral memory capacity.

Most of the time, my memories simply detail times past with whatever emotions were attached to any particular one, as well as my current feeling about it. I might miss friends who were part of that memory, or maybe feel grateful that I’m not there anymore, or regretful for having acted badly, or having missed chances never given again.

I hope that I’ve gained more than I’ve lost, and, that I’ll not only recognize, but have the courage to take advantage of any worthwhile opportunities presented to me, and treat the people in my life in ways that won’t have me looking back in regret.

I used to think my life wouldn’t be complete or fulfilled without a husband, but I’ve come to understand that I’ve only ever needed myself. Once I started making better choices, loving and accepting myself, and focusing on my life, other parts of my collage started to be fulfilled:

I thought peace and happiness would come from what I attained, or achieved, or especially, through someone else. In fact, most of the turmoil I’ve experienced in my life was because I tried to get others to give me, or do for me what I needed to give to, and do for, myself.

I could read other people’s blogs all day. I am humbled and delighted by the creativity and thoughts in this world – and that’s just from reading about twelve other blogs I currently subscribe to. I have a few blogs off of WordPress I follow, and I know there are thousands I could get lost in.

I’m often inspired by what I read, and sometimes I read blogs and wonder if I should keep writing because those writers are far more skilled, funny, focused, and/or interesting than I am. Then I take that step back and think that I have a voice too. I write because it’s in me to do so. I find this world endlessly interesting, and frustrating, hilarious and dour, simple and complicated, treacherous and secure, etcetera – and all the writing I come across about the myriad of life experiences and differing viewpoints is so captivating!

Although I’ve not physically met anyone from the blogosphere, so far, I feel like I’ve made several friends, and that is so cool. Thank you to all of you who’ve visited my blog, so that I in turn found you, and to all of those I happened across (or StumbledUpon: www.stumbleupon.com), or sites recommended to me.

I always read the blogs I’ve subscribed to through my inbox, and don’t always comment or show appreciation, but please know that I am thoroughly enjoying them, and I am grateful for your writing.

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